Authors Note: Here is my first attempt at X-Men Fanfiction, any feedback is appreciated. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I do not own and am not affiliated with anything X-Men; I'm just borrowing them temporarily

Remy:

I watch her fly away and resign myself to my fate. I will not fight this time, I give up, let fate finally end this miserable existence that I've had the shame of calling my life.

I watch the Blackbird takeoff with anger so strong radiating off myself that I wonder if I could explode myself with my power. Perhaps make the end come a little faster than absolutely necessary.

I know it won't.

I can't.

I'm resigned to not fight, I'm consciously focusing on letting go, allowing the cold to consume me, to end me.

Unfortunately I'm a fighter, always have been, always will be. That's the path that led me here.

I will try to live; I must, for the will to live is ingrained in my very soul. A beginning on the streets taught me to be a survivor. This will be no different.

I may wish to die, but I must try to live.

So I stand up from my knees where I had fallen and walk towards the fallen building. My eyes sting with tears from the sun, or the hurt, or the shame. It doesn't matter why.

I manage to crawl into the remnants of the building, finding nothing but a brief shelter from the wind and sun.

I am forced to crawl under the rubble trying to find something, anything that could help me.

The place is empty of anything that would be useful to me. Still I continue looking.

After a long, hard, cold search I find a latch on the floor, some sort of underground opening. I try to push the fallen items away from the square cut-out that I have found on the floor. I feel particles fall upon me as I jostle the debris. Looking up I realize everything will collapse if I continue to attempt to enter the hidden room.

I move on, I've wasted enough time and effort on the dead-end which could have saved or ended my life. At least for now, I move on.

My muscles are sore and my body is ice. I am a southern boy, the simple cold of New York seeps into my bones.

The cold of Antarctica seeps into my soul.

Well if I had a soul I'm sure it would seep into it.

Crawling further into the remains I find nothing else that interests or helps me. I think back to earlier and try to remember if there was electricity in this small building. I can't remember, but I move to one of the walls in determination of finding out.

I'm not sure when the idea occurred to me, but I thought that if there was electricity than perhaps there was some way to get warm.

I needed to find something to make me warm, anything.

I abandoned my idea of electricity when I could not come up with a further plan even if I found that the building had power.

I had power, I could make a fire, I resolved.

Moving towards a small corner of the building I found a space open enough to allow smoke out yet enclosed enough to perhaps keep some warmth in.

I moved debris to my little corner and attempted to light a card, my finger hurt with the attempt but I was able to get it lit. I placed the card on the wood and hoped it wouldn't explode back in my face.

Somehow my makeshift campfire worked.

Well it was lit anyways.

I sat close to the fire for a long time, noticing that the light from outside had faded. I never seemed to get warm because the winds from outside kept blowing down into the hole above my fire causing it to go out.

I would re-light it every time, until suddenly I couldn't. My fingers were to frozen to allow my power to flow. My body was to frozen to move away from the wind and cold.

I would die here.

My thoughts drifted to my Papa, the man who saved my life in more ways than one a lifetime ago. I knew he couldn't save me today. Would the X-Men tell him the truth about my death? Would they tell him about my death at all?

Would the X-Men care that what they had done was murder? Would they even notice that I was gone?

I laughed. I'm uncertain if I laughed out loud or simply in my head, but I laughed.

They didn't even know the truth about what they had condemned me for. 'Gambit killed the Morlocks,' that's what they would say. That would justify it for them, kill the murderer.

Except I'm not a murderer, I'm not innocent, but I'm not a murderer.

Logan:

Logan entered the kitchen of the mansion having first put his Harley away in the garage. His first thoughts were to get a beer, a cigar, the Cajun and go sit on the porch. He had missed his best friend, plus since it was 2 O'clock in the morning Gambit was probably his only choice of company anyways.

He made his way up the dark quiet stairs to his room. As he reached the third floor that only he and Gambit occupied something felt wrong.

His steps were a little faster as he realized that the Cajun's door was open, his door was never opened. In the 4 years that they had shared this particular floor, his door was never open unless someone was standing in it.

The chaos that he looked upon startled him. The room was a mess, everything was searched, and everything looked destroyed.

He stepped into the room smelling for traces of an intruder. He only found traces of the X-Men, he could smell them all. What had happened? Where was Remy?

He descended the stairs twice as fast as he had ascended them only moments before.

The professor's office was where he was headed.

'Come in Logan' he heard in his head as he was about to open the door angrily.

Good, so the Professor was up, had this happened tonight? Were the X-Men out looking for Remy?

"What the hell is going on Chuck?" he wanted answers, and he wanted them immediately.

"We learned some things about Gambit while you were gone," was the phrase the Professor chose to start the conversation with.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a mission to Antarctica and some things were revealed that we did not previously know about Gambit." He continued.

"Where is Remy?"

"He did not return with the team from Antarctica," the Professor forced out.

"What do you mean?" Logan growled.

"During the mission to Antarctica it was revealed that Gambit had worked with Sinister and led the Morlock Massacre."

"And,"

"And there was a trial, I was not there Logan so I will not pretend to know exactly what occurred, but from all accounts the building that the trial was taking place in began to crumble and everyone had to quickly evacuate. Gambit never made it out," the Professor painfully added.

"X-Men don't leave anyone behind," Logan growled dangerously.

"You have to understand Logan neither Scott nor I were here when the X-Men returned."

"I don't have to understand anything Chuck, his room is destroyed. Was that you?"

"No, of course not!" The Professor yelled exasperated. "That was already done before my return."

"Did anyone go back for him?" Logan demanded.

When Professor Xavier wouldn't meet his eye Logan knew the answer. No, no one had returned for him. No one had even attempted to retrieve his body.

"When did it happen?"

"About a month ago," the Professor answered.

Logan closed his eyes and looked away, there was no hope then, Remy couldn't possibly still be alive.

"He wasn't part of the massacre," Logan told the Professor.

Professor Xavier didn't speak but he looked at Logan intently.

"He was there, but he had nothing to do with it."

"How do you know that?"

"Creed told me one of the first times we fought the Mauraders after Remy joined. I don't know why the kid was with them, but Creed said I need to watch my back because at the first sign of murder the kid freaks out and takes off." Logan had taken to staring at the bookshelf to the right of the Professor as he continued. "I didn't really understand what he meant at the time, so I asked the kid."

"And he explained?"

"Not completely," Logan explained, "he said he was tricked." Logan said trying to recall the exact conversation. "He isn't a killer Chuck, do you really question that?"

"No Logan I do not," He replied sincerely.